


To you who gave me the morning as a gift

by Moonsta



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsta/pseuds/Moonsta





	To you who gave me the morning as a gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my beloved Kochana](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+beloved+Kochana).



To you, who gave me the morning as a gift.

I remember the endless nights when the sweet light of dawn kept going further away from my reach, the ones that kept me prisoner in their darkness. I remember the strong hands that once kept me still, but shattered and left me falling in a bottomless pit, of the ones that tried to help me but gave up at the slightest difficulty. I remember the doubts and the so-called kind looks people sometimes gave me, I remember what others could have forgotten. What I always found hard to remember were the entire days waiting for something.

There is nowhere in my memory of my aware years that you could find genuine excitement and happiness that are not coupled with an invasive feeling that made me question if I was not making a mistake.

You made me the promise of a new dawn, one that told me there was a point in opening my eyes again.

You were there. I could sense your stare, I could hear your voice, I could feel your embrace, I could see your silhouette dancing in the mirror. I saw your shadow in mine, your smile on my face, your kindness in my words. By entering the door you opened, I understood I was understood.

I would gift you the most beautiful lyrics, the prettiest melody, the greatest future. I would make you the sweetest promise, I would write you the happiest life, I would read you the most interesting story, I would paint you the most spellbinding canvas. 

To you, my world's monochromy, the dystopia that took place in my mind and that started to devour my colors never seemed frightening. You were never afraid of a thought, you were never trying to dismiss my pain, you never tried to hide yours. You trust me. You never found my lack of colors boring, you never asked for someone outstanding. I seemed to be enough. That was how you made me feel.

For the first time, I was enough.

Since you gave me the fragile flower of your soul, I wanted to cherish it. Cherish it like you cherished mine, move it like you move me. I, too, wanted to open a door. 

I wanted to create an ethereal garden where flowers climbed on the walls, where the sun of a presence warmed the earth, where a little brook of never-shed tears flowed calmly as a background music. I wanted a garden like yours.

The shine of a color that linked us, the reflection of a pure smile that never left my memory, the ghost of a laugh we shared unconsciously, the one that eased my dreamless nights and echoed like a lullaby. This oh so beautiful song that called me, of which the sweetness made me feel important. You are this voice I hear in the street calling my name, this reassuring figure of a nostalgic déjà vu, this word I repeat until it loses its meaning.

I remember your warmth, the one I never felt, your fears, the ones I wish I could make disappear, your dreams, the ones I hope you'll realize. I keep asking myself if one day, the silence will come back, the colors will fade, the sun won't shine, the brook will dry out, the roses will perish. 

But today, I want to believe. I want to believe that songs won't lose their lyrics, that waking up to look forward to something won't become a dream I can't even reach again, I want to believe you'll stay, so I can fill my brook and dry your tears, so I can be your sun and comfort your pain, so we can be flowers on the same branch.

I, today, share a plant with five people that deserve the most precise brushstroke, the prettiest letters, the kindest words. Each one of them holds tightly a fragment of my soul. Today, I shall hand you yours.

To you, who gives me the morning as a gift,  
I thank you,  
And I love you.


End file.
